


Tangle

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [62]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: Language, M/M, slash.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 10:45:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15071543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: Holiday for Arthur and Lance.  Sword verse.  Set a few months afterThree Daysin this same storyline.





	Tangle

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written Dec 2008. New edit June 2018.
> 
> this was originally set some time after Roland had died, but I had Lance running his club still in the first version of this story. That doesn't work with Roland being dead as per the original storyline for this series, Arthur and Lance are already solidly broken up by that point. No matter how I tried to change it to before Lance joined the academy, it didn't work. So this is now set after Roland has died, Lance has joined the police academy, and has decided to take up helping Guinevere a bit with the family business. He hasn't come to the conclusion that's there's no hope for him to stay with Arthur yet, but as I didn't write any of this story from his POV, I wrote him saying he wants to have some sort of relationship with Guin without him "announcing" or thinking about the real reasons behind this motivation. I leave it up to the reader to either think he's sincere or to realize why he's actually said what he has.

 

Leaning on the railing of his balcony was not a good idea when Arthur had had as much to drink as he had that evening. He didn't care, though, and waved a hand through the air, watching with a goofy smile how the lights in the city sparkled and formed chasers as his fingers trailed through them.  The few people that were still inside his flat were gradually drifting away; he'd left Lance to say the good-bye's and was quite content to be done with the night. He wasn't sure why he'd let the other man talk him into this kind of party in the first place. Especially one that involved the words 'Christmas,' 'drinking,' and 'Guinevere.'

"You're a fucking buzzkill."

Arthur sighed, but with the amount of booze in his system it came out more like a laugh; Lance frowned at him as his hip brushed Arthur's, Arthur's skin overly warm in the wool trousers Lance had insisted he wear. He bumped back at Lance, and laughed again even though the other man merely stared at him before finally resting his arms on the railing as well.

"It's supposed to be fun, Arthur."

"Big parties are not fun, Lancelot," Arthur answered, Lance's full name tumbling off his tongue the way the drink had run easily over it earlier. "Especially when they involve the words 'Christmas, drinking,' and..."

"'Guinevere.' I know."

Arthur felt his face collapse into what he thought was a frown; he touched his forehead just to make sure, and he hissed a loopy curse when the lines under his fingers confirmed it.  "I thought you two weren't speaking," he said, trying desperately to bring his eyes back into focus as he straightened - _sorry, city lights, we'll have to dance later_ \- and met Lance's eyes. Well, met the side of Lance's head.

"Roland's dead. She's the only thing I have left as family. It's fucking Christmas, Arthur. Lighten up."  The tightness in Lance's shoulders and the tone of his voice should have been warning enough for Arthur to _back off!_ but, being as drunk as he was, he annoyedly shoved away his mental danger bells and touched Lance's arm. "Your mother?"

When Lance turned and looked at him at last, Arthur could swear his eyes were solid black. _Where had the whites gone?_ Maybe a little flame shot from them as well, but, Arthur was drunk, so Arthur might have been fooling himself.

Yes. Fool.

Lance shoved off from the railing and walked inside, his slender body seeming to take up all the room there was in the world - all Arthur could see was the way his gait was stiff, the loose, wild coils of his hair, and the hurt that radiated like an aura around his black clothing.

Raising his hand again, Arthur waved it, watching the tracers from the winking lights on his balcony flow and ebb against his flesh, except where the dark shape that was Lance blocked them out.

*

The flushing toilet hurt Arthur's head, but he accepted it as due punishment and rolled onto his side on the cold floor of the bathroom. He lay there, expecting to hear the sound of pattering feet, to see the sight of Lance's rumpled curls and annoyed expression, to see the bromide Lance would be holding in his hands, to hear the calming voice and loving words.

He heard, saw and got nothing but cold floor, dark bathroom, and the quiet _shurusssshhh_ of the rain that had begun falling outside.

*

Arthur sat on the side of the bed a few hours later, the pre-dawn darkness blacker than any three AM sky he'd ever seen. Then again, that might be due to his incredible, skull pounding headache, but again, he suffered it gladly as he knew he should.  He bit his lip, and finally sat against the headboard, his legs tucked under the covers, his hand on his bare stomach, trying to will heat into his pained gut as he whispered _shhh_ to it. Looking finally at the other side of the bed, he hesitated, and then rested his other hand on Lance's belly, the whiteness of his flesh exposed by the other man's thrashing as he slept.

He felt the gentle rise and fall of Lance's breathing, and wondered for the umpteenth time just where his brain had gone that night. Where it had gone each time he said things that were devoid of thought, or hurtful or inane or just stupid. He drew a small patern over the white skin under his hand, and Lance stirred and turned on his left side, his hands rising to knit and rest under his chin in his slumber.

" _I'm_ your family," Arthur whispered, his breath a ghost in the warm room that held too much of them.

"I know," came the soft answer, and Arthur, not surprised Lance had heard him, allowed the corner of his mouth to curl into a small, brief wrinkle of joy.

"I'm sorry you threw up," Lance added, although he kept his eyes closed. Arthur nodded, sagely as an ancient guru, and shrugged.

"I expected it," he answered. Lance's face twisted once in a semblance of humor. "That's what you get," he shrugged, aping Arthur's motion, his words spoken quickly and without any obvious feeling; Arthur winced as if hit.  He deserved that. He continued to mark absently with his fingers on Lance's stomach, and at last the other man opened his eyes, and contemplated Arthur's hunched form.

Lance tugged on the hand that rested on his belly, and Arthur came willingly, if slowly, to his side. His sweaty head, still aching and tight, lay against the warm flesh that covered Lance's heart, and Arthur allowed the steady and familiar beating, the drum of his existence, to lull him into a dreamless and guilt filled sleep.

*

He awoke at midday to see Lance stark naked and standing over him with coffee, the other man's face a lot softer than Arthur remembered it from the night previous. "Here," he said, and handed over the hot beverage.  He moved gracefully around the bed, and sat on the covers, Arthur not able to take his eyes off Lance's liquid form even as the odor from the coffee caused his stomach to growl. "Drink it," Lance smiled tiredly. Arthur obeyed.  They merely sat together and listened to the sounds of the day; Arthur felt incredibly bad for having slept for so long, and even worse for allowing Lance to let him sleep. Even if he had needed it.

"You _are_ my family," Lance said abruptly, slowly. "But I still need my sister.  Sort of.  And there's a lot between you and me that's not fixed, Arthur.  I love you.  I love you, Arthur, but we're both tangled right now and I need you to either help me untangle or we can choose to live this unhealed life until we both either snap or kill each other." He ran hands through his still damp hair, one of his fingers rubbing at the thin scar that ran through his eyebrow.  Arthur's eyes tracked a springy piece of hair that curled around the scallop of Lancelot's right earlobe. He found it oddly in focus - the only thing that was clear and cold and real. He reached out and grasped it, letting it twine gently around his index finger, trying to catch just what Lance had said, trying to realize the truth and the importance of it.  And the fact that Lance had actually said something that true.  They loved each other, and Lance had made a monumental change.  But they were too caught up in each other, and realizing that - Arthur let go of the curl and cupped his hand around Lance's skull briefly.

He sat up, and dropped the hand slowly to rest on the large muscle of Lance's thigh. The other man smelled right, looked right, and by God, his spirit filled the room and Arthur to such levels that Arthur had to swallow heavily and shake his head to fit himself next to this person he loved.  No matter their tangle or not.

 _Jesus_.

"Hrm," Arthur sighed. Lancelot blinked, and then sparked a brief, comical, only slightly bitter grin. He leaned forward and took the now empty coffee cup out of Arthur's hands. "Kiss me," he murmured. "Can you understand _that_ , at least?"

Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but the tiny flash of Lance's bare body against the light of midday distracted him and jammed his head full of carnal thoughts, not leaving room for guilt or any kind of _words words words_ or apologies.

He snatched at the back of the other man's head, dragged Lance to him, and pressed his lips to the other man's, hot and already swollen from just the _idea_ of having this.

Lance's lithe form slid bonelessly and comfortably into Arthur's lap; he was still clad in pajama bottoms, but the heat from Lance's skin burned its way through the flimsy material.  Lance's mouth caught at Arthur's, the friction between them - real and imagined - dragged their kiss out and slowed it down. Heat and heat and heat and wetness and the rasping of skin on skin, a dry spot on Arthur's mouth ripping more as Lance's tongue sought purchase wherever it could find it.  Arthur's hands slid lower on the other man's back, stopping at the place right above the curve of Lance's backside. Hovering over the line - _do I cross it_ \- and then Lance flipped him to his back and gave him no choice.

And then he was surrounded by _all_ of Lancelot and lights formed bright tracers behind Arthur's eyes and around his lover's form. Arthur raised a hand and waved it; the colors broke and reformed, but never truly died. He smiled at the gift of beauty, and then his neck spasmed and his back arched and he was taken in _truly_ with and by everything that Lancelot was.

Everything tangled and tore apart and all Arthur could see was one face and one heart and one spirit and -

he cried Lancelot's name and the lights and the tracers and the vision of his backlit hand blacked out.

~


End file.
